[Intro] (Soft rhythmic guitar tapping starts) (A gentle, breathy sigh) [Verse 1] I was humming a tune about a girl back in school Working the late shift, following every rule The lathe was a-spinning, a silver-toothed blur I didn't see the hem of my trousers reach for her There was a snag and a snap, then a sickening lurch Like the sound of a hymnal being ripped in a church I felt the cold steel meet the warmth of my skin And the heavy-duty pistons started folding me in. [Pre-Chorus] (Guitar intensifies with percussive slaps) It didn't hurt at first, it was just a strange hum Until I looked down and my spirit went numb The smell of burnt rubber and copper and grease As the machinery claimed every piece of my peace. [Chorus] And now I’m singing through the static of a morphine drip Remembering the moment that the metal let slip My crown jewels are scattered like red confetti on the floor I don't think I'll be needing those jeans anymore Oh, the doctors say "recovery," but they don't see the sight Of the mangled purple wreckage in the fluorescent light Yeah, it’s a quiet kind of heartbreak, a hollow kind of sound When your future’s in a bucket and your pride’s on the ground. [Verse 2] (Strumming softens, more intimate) I remember the texture, like a grape in a vice The sound of the cartilage snapping—not once, but twice A glistening soup of what used to be mine Wrapped up in a pulley and a frayed nylon line The shop floor was steaming, a pungent display Of a man being unmade in a mechanical way I saw a bit of myself on the spindle, quite high Like a sad, fleshy comet against the workshop sky. [Pre-Chorus] (Building tension) And the foreman was screaming for the emergency stop But the damage was done with a squelch and a flop Now the silence is heavy, the air’s thick with copper I’m a medical marvel, a real show-stopper. [Chorus] And now I’m singing through the static of a morphine drip Remembering the moment that the metal let slip My crown jewels are scattered like red confetti on the floor I don't think I'll be needing those jeans anymore Oh, the doctors say "recovery," but they don't see the sight Of the mangled purple wreckage in the fluorescent light Yeah, it’s a quiet kind of heartbreak, a hollow kind of sound When your future’s in a bucket and your pride’s on the ground. [Bridge] (Slow, melancholic cello enters) I used to think of names for a son or a daughter Now I’m just a fountain of lukewarm salt water The nurse looks away when she changes the gauze At the raw, weeping crater and the lack of applause It’s a flat, iron smell, like a rusted-out car I’m the loneliest man at the hospital bar. [Breakdown] (Vocals become a rhythmic whisper over guitar taps) One turn of the wheel. Two liters of red. Three surgeons are wishing they’d stayed in their bed. Four hours of stitching. Five stages of grief. Six inches of plumbing gone beyond belief. [Final Chorus] (Full, soaring folk-pop energy) Yeah, I’m singing through the static of a morphine drip Remembering the moment that the metal let slip My crown jewels are scattered like red confetti on the floor I’ll never hear the rattle of a zipper anymore Oh, the doctors say "recovery," but they don't see the sight Of the mangled purple wreckage in the fluorescent light Yeah, it’s a quiet kind of heartbreak, a hollow kind of sound When your manhood’s in a bucket and your pride’s on the ground. [Outro] (Fading acoustic strumming) Just a bucket on the ground. (A soft, pained whistle) Mind the loose threads, darling. (Final percussive tap on the guitar body)
